


How They Met (Again)

by lena1987



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Attraction, Curiosity, Edinburgh, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship, Party, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lena1987/pseuds/lena1987
Summary: Furtive glances across the room.  A short snippet of the beginning of an evening.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gelsey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/gifts).



He was at a party. It was a stupid, mindless, waste-of-his-time kind of party. But there was alcohol and good food – women, too, but not…

 

Severus took another careful sip of his lager. Wouldn’t do to mortify himself; it was strange enough being forty-eight and watching a room full of writhing bodies who all looked to be ten years younger. At least it was an intellectual crowd. Could’ve been worse.

 

He cast his eye about the room; there, women cackling about something or other. Four of them – hands on their hearts, the other over their lips. Fascinating, women, even if they spent most of their time trying to one-up each other with tales about sex or men or money or sex. He thought women were interesting; at least they had something to say. Not that he was on the same wavelength most of the time, but that was the point now, wasn’t it?

 

Otherwise it’d be dull.

 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was thinking like a man who was with a woman. He bloody well wasn’t. Somewhere in him was a fifteen year old who had no idea about anything.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

Severus shrugged. “Not really. I should be off.”

 

“Oh, stay!” Rolanda protested, throwing an arm around him. Sherry sloshed in her glass. “It’s only just getting started.”

 

He looked at his watch; shifted on his feet. “I think I’ve had enough.”

 

“Enough? Look at them. This is what it’s all about, you know.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

Rolanda huffed out a laugh. “Sort of. Wish I was. But this is it for us – this is the crowd we’ve got to work with. Otherwise we’d be left with ex-students or ex-teachers and I don’t know about you, but I’m not doing _that_ again.”

 

Snorting, Severus glanced down at the witch hanging off his arm. “ _You_ were the fool who went for her, not I. I don’t need to play by your rules.”

 

“Tosh. Padma was _lovely,_ ” Rolanda drawled, cocking a mischievous eyebrow. “But haven’t I done well?” She gestured around the room. “Look at us! We’re the most interesting looking people in this room.”

 

“I’m not sure that is something to boast about,” he remarked wryly, though it was true. With his black on black on black, he stood out in a room full of tight jeans and pierced lobes. Rolanda hadn’t even bothered to change out of her flying cloak – said it made her look enigmatic. He wasn’t so sure.

 

“Tell me again about how you got us into this… this _thing._ ”

 

“At the gallery,” she said loftily.

 

“You mean _your_ gallery. I still can’t understand why you spent so bloody much on it! It’s the size of a—”

 

“Can’t be picky in Edinburgh, you know that. And stop whinging. I’ve brought you here, haven’t I? This is our crowd, Snape! Non-Magicals, intellectual… _exposed._ ”

 

Severus spluttered around a mouthful of drink. “Christ – of what? _To_ what? Diseases?”

 

“The world!” she said triumphantly. “These are our people! They’ve travelled. They appreciate art. They’re highly educated.”

 

“Even worse,” he grumbled. “Can’t stand a bloody ponce.”

 

“Give over! We’re never going to get legs over any old sod in a pub. No. This is what we need. People who see a million things in one movement. People who look at a painting and dissect it. People who’ll find meaning in everything.”

 

“So what you’re trying to say,” Severus said flatly, “is that we’ve got to surround ourselves with high-handed idiots.”

 

“No! Aren’t you listening?”

 

“Not really,” he admitted.

 

“Look,” she said, “it’s simple, really. These people want _complications._ They want to sink their teeth into something, so they can go and moan about it on Wankbook or whatever it’s called. Who can trump a witch and a wizard who can make them vomit slugs? You can’t. We’re it, Snape. We’re _it_.”

 

Severus downed the rest of his drink. “I don’t think I want to be it. I just want a nice woman. One with a wand, preferably. And I want—”

 

He stopped abruptly.

 

“Oh,” Rolanda murmured. He could hear the smile in her voice. “There you go. You’re sorted.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re nattering on about,” he said, eyes fixed on the back of a woman standing near the corner, chatting with an interesting looking man with a snitch-sized hole in each earlobe. He swallowed, suddenly aware of the buzz of the room and the sweat on his palms and the general awkwardness of his long, lanky body.

 

She was wearing a loose grey dress; her dark hair was frizzing down her back. Black eyes followed the dress to where it stopped just above her knees. There was a break for black tights, before boots—

 

“Oh, boots,” Rolanda sighed, grinning.

 

“Boots,” he agreed absentmindedly, lost in the sight of the woman’s knee-high clunky looking boots. “Ridiculous.”

 

“Oh, completely.”

 

They had a small heel, and there were laces all the way up. He didn’t know what to think about her – all Severus knew was that the room felt smaller, closer, and he wanted to go over and talk to her about anything.

 

There was a break in her conversation and the woman turned side-on. Rolanda sucked in an audible breath but he didn’t understand why. He thought she was sort of familiar, in the way that most on the streets of Diagon Alley were familiar. But from here, all he could manage to glimpse was a flash of gleaming brown eyes, lipstick and collarbones that made his mouth dry.

 

She saw him.

 

Daringly, he let her.

 

Once, she glanced at him, just a flick of her eyes. He watched her; let her know he was watching.

 

She looked away again, but her eyes returned, taking the measure of him. They widened; blinked. He was too caught up in it to attempt to process why – too caught up in the heady act of looking at her, watching her look at him, and enjoying the to-and-fro. She was pretending that each glance wasn’t deliberate, and he shifted on his feet. Grabbed another drink. Stared at the kitchen for a while. Then, back to her. She was blushing. He grinned, and wondered if he should take her a red or white.

 

Would she want him to dance? He hoped not – despite his commanding stride, he had two left feet and had long mastered the art of swishing his feet around on the floor, aiming to disguise them by a partner’s voluminous skirts. By unspoken agreement, he only ever danced with Rolanda or Minnie anyway – less risk of exposure.

 

Her companion must’ve said something, because she swivelled around, and again he was faced with her lovely back.

 

“You know,” Rolanda said thoughtfully, “it makes sense.”

 

“What makes sense?” he asked, distracted by counting the number of buttons down the back of her dress. “Does it?”

 

“It does. She’s a bit young, though.”

 

“Hm. I suppose. Probably. Bugger.”

 

“Bugger what? Don’t let it stop you – I told you. This is _our_ night. What’s a decade or two when we all look the same at one hundred?”

 

With a snort, he faced the witch. “And if she’s a Muggle?” he said drily, depositing his empty drink on a nearby table. “What then?”

 

She gave him her best no-bullshit smile. “I know you’re not blind – unless you’ve been looking at her bottom instead of the wand holster under her sleeve?”

 

“No. Really?” Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed a slight blurriness on one arm. “Nice charms-work,” he commented, feeling lighter than he had all evening.

 

“Is that truly all you can say?” Rolanda exclaimed, biting back a chortle. “Oh, men. Show them a nice pair of legs and they’re gone.”

 

“Why? What else have I missed?” grumbled Severus. “Should I—”

 

“Go over? Of course.”

 

“Introduce myself, I suppose.”

 

“Only for a laugh.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ye gods,” she groaned, grabbing his shoulders. “You’ve been doing the furtive-glances-across-the-room dance with Hermione Granger, Severus. I don’t think you need to introduce yourself at all.”

 

With flushed cheeks, he cleared his throat. “Right. All right, then.”

 

_Hermione Granger?_ He hadn’t seen her in years – ten, maybe. Eight. He had no idea what she was doing with herself, but he was curious. The sexy, nonsensical boots flashed behind his lids when he pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes.  

 

“Are you going over?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“There’s only one question to ask yourself,” said Rolanda, silently slipping out her wand and sending a light tickling jinx towards the younger witch across the room. On cue, the wild-haired woman tipped her head back and laughed.

 

Severus blinked. He knew instantly that he wanted to hear that clear, rich sound again. He wanted to inspire it; he wanted to know exactly how she’d laugh if she was in his arms, responding to something he’d whispered in her ear.

 

“And what is that?” he asked.

 

“What are you going to bring her – Pinot Noir or Chardonnay?”

 

His black eyes flicked to the window, taking in the cold, November night. “Pinot Noir,” he answered, before he headed to the drinks table with a smirk upon his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> For gelsey, and her beautiful boots.


End file.
